


Like A Rubber Band

by bemyjohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, ballet!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemyjohn/pseuds/bemyjohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thought he had his flatmate figured out. But when you live with a man like Sherlock Holmes, there's no such thing as no surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Rubber Band

After living with Sherlock Holmes for a year, John Watson had the man figured out. He knew to leave him alone if he was in his thinking position – hands clasped tightly beneath his chin – and that if he left a cup of tea and a piece of toast next to him while he worked, there was a chance he might take a sip and a bite.

 

John had Sherlock's facial expressions down pact and knew when to step in between a conversation with Molly for fear that Sherlock was 10 seconds away from making her cry. He could tell when Anderson was about to get a verbal slap and greatly enjoyed watching Sherlock's face as he built up to it. The little crease between his eyebrows and the clench of his jaw until finally, he berated Anderson's intelligence and requested his presence be thrown from the room. John was an expert at holding back his laughter but he and Sherlock always seemed to know that giggling in the cab after a case was customary.

 

It should probably be explained that while yes, John did watch his flatmate very closely, it wasn't for any other reason than to anticipate his next move. No attraction, just looking out for himself and the others around them because when you knew what Sherlock had planned next, it made your life a little easier. Yes, that was all it was.

 

No attraction. John barely looked at him like that. He never noticed the way Sherlock huffed his unruly, obsidian bangs out of his face with a fast breath or the way his thin fingers gripped his bow while he played the violin. He didn't get a flutter in his stomach whenever John saw Sherlock's genuine laughter – the one with his head thrown back and light in his gray eyes. And no, John never stared when Sherlock had those eyes closed gently, hands clasped under his chin in a prayer stance, and long, thin body laid out on their couch. Thin legs stretched out fully, arms folded up and the outline of his muscle visible beneath his thin white sleep shirt...Nope. He _definitely_ did not notice these things. Nope.

 

Okay maybe he noticed a little.

 

But only a little.

 

In John's mind, his attraction to Sherlock Holmes was chalked up to the fact that if you asked anyone – man, women – they would all agree that Sherlock was beautiful. There was no doubt about it. The way he carried and dressed himself spoke of such grace. With his cheekbones and that mop of dark hair, John didn't find his attraction misguided at all.

 

Besides, he had his flatmate figured out, he was sure of it. He knew everything there was to know about the man and the _one_ thing John was absolutely _positively_ sure about was that Sherlock never looked John's way like... _that_.

 

So there was nothing to worry about.

 

Absolutely nothing to worry about. Nothing. At. All.

 

 

 

 

It was supposed to be an easy Sunday. John had plans of waking up slowly and making himself a big breakfast before sitting on the couch and drinking copious amounts of tea while reading his new book.

 

But when one lives with Sherlock Holmes, there's no such thing as “plans.”

 

John was rudely awoken by Sherlock's consistent pounding at his door, and was immediately told that the coffee machine had quit working. With a groan, John looked over at his beside clock and almost throttled Sherlock when he saw that it was 8 in the morning.

 

Nonetheless, he threw off his covers and followed Sherlock into the kitchen.

 

“What did you do to it?” John grumbled as he tried to figure out why their coffee pot had suddenly gone junk.

 

“Why do you automatically assume that I had something to do with it?” Sherlock asked as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. John just looked at him until Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed off to come and stand next to him. “I didn't _do_ anything. It's just not working.”

 

“Fine,” John grumbled as he ran his hands over his face. “Make some tea. I'm going to have a shower and then we can go shopping for another blasted pot.”

 

“Do I have to come with you?” Sherlock asked as he began putting the kettle on. “Surely coffee pot shopping doesn't require much thinking, I'm sure you can handle it yourself.”

 

John took in a deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides. He was 10 seconds away from starting a shouting match at 8 in the morning, but stopped himself.

 

“Sod this,” he finally said. “I'll go by myself.”

 

So that's how John Watson ended up coffee pot shopping an hour later, on his first day off from work that (so far) didn't include a case. He walked up and down the aisle, trying to find a simple, standard coffee pot but apparently those were extinct. He did have Sherlock's card with him, so with a gleeful laugh, he picked up the most expensive coffee pot he could find, and exited the store with a smile and a large box.

 

The box laid next to him on the tube ride home. John sitting next to it with his arms crossed and that nagging sensation of guilt in the back of his mind for buying a 200 pound coffee shop with money that didn't belong to him. He reasoned with himself that because he didn't get a cab back to the flat, he hadn't committed something too terrible.

 

The minute he got back to 221B, he was ready to apologize and to take the damn coffee pot back if Sherlock didn't like it. He climbed the stairs slowly and in time with the music that was playing from their living room.

 

“Sherlock,” he started when he opened the door, but stopped still in the frame of the doorway. His gripped faltered on the box and he quickly caught it before it fell to the ground. “What are you doing?”

 

Sherlock looked up from his position on the floor and raised his eyebrows. “I see you've found a suitable replacement,”

 

“Uh, yes,” John said as he entered the flat, keeping his eyes on the detective. “Sherlock, again, what the hell are you doing?”

 

Sherlock glanced all around at himself and shrugged. He was wearing a white t-shirt, skin tight black....something, and a pair of ballet shoes. His legs were spread out to his sides and he seemed to be relaxing it what seemed to be a very uncomfortable position.

 

“Stretching,”

 

“Yes I see that but why?”

 

Sherlock's perfect posture crumbled and he looked at John with disdain. “Because it's relaxing and many scientific experiments have been done that prove that stretching daily have many health benefits.”

 

“You stretch like this everyday?” John questioned as he sat the box down beside him. Sherlock nodded and moved his upper body over his right leg. John watched the way Sherlock's arms reached out to grab at his ankle and swallowed tightly. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

 

“My mother,” Sherlock grunted as he pushed himself deeper into the stretch. “believed that knowing how to dance was important. No son of hers was going to have two left feet, she would tell us.” he switched to his left leg and smiled up at John. “You should see the pictures of Mycroft in tights.”

 

John smiled at the image, then frowned in disgust to which Sherlock chuckled.

 

“I took ballet for 5 years and stretching is a very important part of it and something you never truly forget how to do.”

 

With a move so sensual, John found himself clenching his jaw, Sherlock slowly edged forward until he was sitting comfortably in the middle splits. John watched in awe as Sherlock stayed in the stretch for what seemed ages, and John couldn't help but blatantly check out his flatmate. The tight pants left little to the imagination while the loose t-shirt opened up in the front so John could see down it. The strain of Sherlock's arms allowed his muscles to show in a way John had never seen before.

 

With the man so usually covered up with suits and scarves and his big gray coat, John found swallowing tightly at the image of his flatmate in such tight clothing.

 

It shouldn't have been much of a surprise. John knew Sherlock had to be hiding some muscles under his suits. No man could run through London at a breakneck speed without being a little built up. Unlike himself, Sherlock's muscles were lean and sinewy. And the angle at which his feet were pointed.... _God._

 

Sherlock sat back out of the stretch and slowly stood up. He raised an eyebrow at John and then grinned.

 

“You know, some stretches are easier with a partner,” he said, his voice an octave lower than John was used to. “If you don't mind...” he trailed off as he backed up to the wall beside John. Sherlock flattened his back to the wall, and then brought his right leg up in front of him.

 

John swallowed and asked Sherlock what he needed him to do, and Sherlock gestured to his leg.

 

“Grab it and push towards me.”

 

He placed his hands against Sherlock's calf and did as he was told. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall behind him. With a swallowed breath, John watched Sherlock's neck as the detective swallowed tightly and then spoke.

 

“Harder,” he rasped.

 

John took a deep breath and pushed until Sherlock's right foot was touching the wall behind him and John's upper body was tight against his thigh.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock looked straight at John and then slowly let his right leg down. John let his fingertips trail down his leg as Sherlock righted himself.

 

“The left one now,” Sherlock said quietly, his eyes not leaving Johns. Sherlock brought his left leg up and John repeated the process. This time, when John's body was pressed tight against Sherlock's thigh, he felt the unmistakable hardness of the detective's erection and had to hold back a moan.

 

Sherlock let his left leg fall down from John's grip, and then walked past him to stand in the middle of the living room. With a small smile, he laid down on his back and lifted his right leg.

 

“Although this stretch is similar to the wall one, it allows the leg to be pushed out to the side and therefore, allows the muscles to be loosened even more.” he explained. John moved to stand above Sherlock and looked quizzically at the leg that was being offered. “Get on your knees. Keep on knee on my left leg so it doesn't bend, then grab at the front of my knee and push my leg down so my foot is near my ear.”

 

John did as he was told, and slowly placed his knee on Sherlock's thigh before grabbing his right leg.

 

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” he questioned as Sherlock's foot began nearing his ear.

 

“On the contrary,” Sherlock said before closing his eyes and groaning. “You have no idea how incredible this feels. Without a partner, it's difficult to make these stretches so _deep._ ”

 

John tried, he really did. He had been so _good_ about keeping his attraction at bay but seeing his gorgeous flat mate spread out like this was too much. He let go of Sherlock's leg and before he could think twice, he placed his hand behind Sherlock's neck and brought their lips together.

 

Sherlock stayed still with surprise, before softening into the kiss and allowing his leg to fall back to his side. John felt Sherlock's hands trailed up his sides before settling on his upper back, bringing them closer together. Sherlock's back arched off the floor and John let his other hand slip down to his lower back, keeping him elevated.

 

“Did you plan this?” John panted when he pulled away. “Was this all some sort of experiment? How long can I show off my flexibility before John cracks?”

 

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a smile. “And I have to say you held out remarkably well.”

 

“You honestly thought I could handle floor stretches? Jesus Christ, Sherlock.” John laughed before leaning back in and capturing Sherlock's mouth with more force this time. Sherlock groaned beneath him and John pulled back with confusion when Sherlock brought his right leg back up to a full stretch.

 

“Let's not allow this flexibility to go to waste,” Sherlock said as he slowly let his foot rest on the shoulder of John. John looked at the foot right next to his face and pressed a soft kiss to the ankle all the while staring straight into Sherlock's eyes. He grasped the ankle and pressed his mouth to his calf before allowing his kisses to return to Sherlock's mouth.

 

John's hands trailed down Sherlock's leg and slowly pushed it back till his foot once was again brushing the floor. With the rest of his body weight, John pressed his hips down onto Sherlock's thigh until Sherlock grunted with the pressure of the stretch and from the feeling of John's cock against his own.

 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” John swore as he rubbed his hips up and down against the length of Sherlock's erection. John kept a firm grip on Sherlock's right leg and continued to press it harder into Sherlock's upper body, the stretch deepening with each press of his hips into Sherlock's.

 

They continued this way, John finding his rhythm and Sherlock pressing up into each of John's thrusts. Sherlock's right leg was pressed harder and harder into the stretch until John was pretty sure Sherlock would never be able to lower it.

 

Sherlock leaned up and moved his mouth down the column of John's neck, occasionally peeking his tongue out to lick the skin. John felt his hands move from his hips and grasp at his belt buckle. With a gasp, he pulled away from Sherlock and moved back onto his heels.

 

Sherlock scrambled onto his elbows and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Problem?”

 

John ran a hand over his short hair and choked out a laugh.

 

“Before we go any further, I have one question,” he prompted.

 

“I'm clean,”

 

“Jesus _fuck_ , not that,” John swore as he shook his head. “I-I just...is the coffee pot even broken?”

 

John and Sherlock stared at each other, the only sounds in the room were Sherlock's CD still playing. As a slow smile spread across Sherlock's lips, John began to shake his head until he was giggling and Sherlock was joining.

 

“It was just a missing screw,” Sherlock said through his laughter.

 

“Well then, we have a 200 pound coffee pot to take back you little shit,” John chuckled as he pressed back onto Sherlock, his hands coming up to reverently trace the man's cheekbones. Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes, allowing John free range.

 

“So that was part of your experiment? Wake John up on his day off so he can go buy a coffee pot while I stretch myself like a rubber band to seduce him?” he mumbled as he ran his hands through Sherlock's hair.

 

“I'll answer that on one condition,” Sherlock said, raising his hand to place his hand against John's face and bring their mouths together. “Is it working?” he asked, a breath of words against John's mouth. Before he could answer, John felt Sherlock's long legs stretch out beside him and come up to wrap around his waist, bringing their lower bodies together.

 

“Oh God, yes,” John breathed. “Of course it's working.”

 

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to write what happens after, please feel free. I tried, I really did, but I can't write smut...yet.


End file.
